


What Cruel Lovers

by Ryzaphelle



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: College AU, F/F, M/M, Modern AU, the pairings we deserve, this is v gay lmao, whoopsie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 02:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9413993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryzaphelle/pseuds/Ryzaphelle
Summary: Friends since childhood, Manon and Dorian navigate university life together whilst trying to secure relationships with their crushes. But from a simple goal spawns troublesome hurdles that leave the pair questioning their partnership. What cruel lovers destroy friends?





	1. Bad Chips

**Author's Note:**

> heres the college au nobody asked for but everyone secretly wants  
> i wrote this out of inspiration from the Salt Squad^TM so thanks guys you're a blessing  
> i just want tog to be gay man is that too much to ask?  
> anyway here's a lot of gay enjoy~

One would say there's a certain fascination in watching the hands of a clock tick by. In the way that, with each passing second, more of your life is lost, seconds you can't take back. Gone. Forever.

Dorian's head began to hurt and he looked from the watch on his wrist back up to the expanse of the dining hall before him. He sat at a table not too far from the edge of the seating area, but also not too close to the centre either. It was a table he chose for the view rather than the food. From here, he could see the other three corners of the hall, the vast assortment of tables, and the queue for food.

Dorian liked to sit here every mid-afternoon with his friend of whom was running late. He considered this a good sign as he would soon be goggling at the newcomers visiting the hall after a class. And his friend was very judgemental about that.

But the minute hand would not move fast enough.

He glanced back down to his watch that read a few minutes to three and back to the book resting in his lap. He leisurely sat back in his chair, ankle propped against the opposing knee, with his book resting awkwardly between them.

It was a fantasy novel of some form, but Dorian couldn't quite focus on the words, not with the insistent ticking of the watch on his wrist.

What if it was running too fast? Too slow?

He pondered this, but a watch of such expense as this should run on time.

Shouldn't it?

“What you reading there?” a voice asked from behind him and pale slender fingers appeared from above his vision to pluck the paperback from his hands.

“Honestly? No idea,” he replied as Manon came to sit opposite him - though not too opposite as to obstruct his view of the far entryway.

She slouched in her chair and crossed her feet upon the surface of the table, jostling Dorian's cup of tea, almost spilling it. Settled, she began to read, “ _ Joseph touched him gently, a light caress to ask for permission to continue. When Darius nodded slightly, he _ ....” She stopped reading, flipped the cover to get a look at the title and author, back at the passage, then at Dorian. “Are you sure this isn’t an erotica?” she asked.

Dorian, whose gaze had wandered to the faraway door, raised an eyebrow at the accusation. “So what if I was?” he dismissed, trying to save face.

Manon’s dark eyes widened as she took in a breath, throwing the novel back onto the table, once again trying to remember why they were friends. Sometimes it was more like a partnership than a friendship as they had known each other from a very young age and continued to retain this relationship up to university, where they were at now. The partnership was formed through having a mutual dislike for their rich families and they often had to resort to playing the boyfriend/girlfriend card as not to draw attention to their other lives.

Manon would be modest about it but she was a key member of the university’s LGBT+ support group in providing a safe space for students and raising awareness about LGBT+ issues. Dorian, despite under the watchful eye of his strict father, tried to donate a significant part of his monthly funds to local charities. It was the least they could do for being the children of political tyrants.

Dorian checked his watch again and released a breath when the minute hand ticked to announce it was three o’clock. Glancing back up at the doorway, his heart began to beat faster. He didn’t really know why. Maybe it was excitement, maybe it was nervousness, but in a matter of minutes the quiet lull of the dining hall would be interrupted by the rowdy and boisterous sound of the university’s rugby team craving food after a tiresome session out on the fields. And Dorian was a shameless spectator of this weekly event.

Even being a second year English major, he only stumbled upon this marvel a couple of months after the academic year started. It was a Thursday, much like today, and he’d ran out of food at his modest apartment not too far away from campus. So he sought the cheap, revolting food of the university cantina, pouring himself a bowl of dry cornflakes before finding a seat next to Manon towards the edge of the hall.

He had grown accustomed to the tranquil silence building around them when the doors burst open to reveal the rugby team all muddy and sweaty and horrid. While the sight made his overall experience of his cornflakes worse, Dorian’s eyes had been drawn to a specific player - tall with a strong build - laughing with his mates as they grabbed their food. They all seemed to look up to him, and it occurred to Dorian that this young man was their captain.

When the mystery boy turned around, Dorian managed to get a look at his pullover where the name Westfall had been written in big lettering across the shoulders. He coughed to hide his snort when he noticed the large number sixty-nine beneath the surname. Not knowing whether the number was deliberate or not, Dorian continued to admire from afar, deciding that the captain was probably the prettiest out of the team - perhaps more so beneath all the muck and grime.

Then Westfall’s rich brown eyes met Dorian’s from across the room and he had to shove in another horrid mouthful of cornflakes to cover up the fact that he was staring. When he started to choke, he earned a glare of annoyance from Manon who had been studying peacefully beside him.

After that day, Dorian would spend almost all his free periods sitting at that same table, waiting for the rugby team to come back. Then he began to notice a pattern as the team would return to the cantina every Thursday around three.

After a couple of weeks of this routine, he decided to call it a crush but instead of confronting said crush, Dorian would just silently pine after him. It wasn’t like the girls he’d sleep with that he could woo with a few words or his bank account. Talking to boys was harder, and he wasn’t the most experienced after all in only having one boyfriend in a sea of girlfriends.

“Manon, how do I talk to boys?” he asked now, discontented suddenly. He planted his feet back on the floor and leaned forward, elbows on the table and chin in his hands.

“Why the hell would you ask me that?” she replied and Dorian exhaled through his nose what could’ve been a laugh. He once again questioned why she and him were friends when she only saw his sex as breeding opportunities and walking-talking dildos. It reminded him of a party a while ago in which they were both a bit tipsy and ended up having sex. While Dorian remembered having a whale of a time, Manon was once again reminded why she was a lesbian.

He sighed and returned his attention to the doorway. How ironic would it have been if the rugby team didn’t have practice today? It’d at least be the first step for Dorian to cut this stupid obsession with Captain “69” Westfall.

A rumbling in his stomach prompted him to get some food, but he debated whether to go home and get food there, or chance the food here…

Another rumble.

Fish and chips it was.

He left Manon at their table and fished around in his pockets for his student ID as he walked to the serving station. After scanning his ID on the reader he grabbed a box of chips and was halfway into adding salt to them when the doors burst open.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He was supposed to be sat at the table, far away, not a couple of metres away with several packets of salt stuffed in his pockets. If he ran away he’d look suspicious, if he didn’t move at all he’d look suspicious. So Dorian kept his feet still and continued pouring salt onto his chips as the rugby team came in, chanting about how good practice was or something.

He tried not to shiver as they brushed by, but almost jumped out of his skin when a hand clapped onto his shoulder.

“Woah there, mate, that’s a lot of salt,” a voice observed from behind him and he turned to see the warm brown eyes of Captain Westfall looking down at him with amusement.

Half-distracted by how much more attractive he looked up close, the other half of Dorian sought for a response that wouldn’t get him weird looks. What if he answered too flirtily? Or too straight? No, Dorian didn’t want to be mistaken for a heterosexual. Not when he had the perfect opportunity to finally utter a word to his crush.

“The chips taste like shit,” he offered simply.

“Why you eating them, then?” Westfall replied with a smirk.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Dorian answered, a smug smile pulling at his lips as he made to look at Westfall’s fingers that were frozen halfway through reaching for his food.

“I was gonna test ‘em,” he excused, “chips are either bad or good depending on who’s made them.” He swiped one and bit into it. As his face crumpled in disgust, Westfall confirmed, “Yeah, bad,” before walking away.

Dorian pursed his lips to keep from smiling as he started back to his table, though faintly he could hear the voices of a couple of boys behind him.

“Did you just steal a chip from that guy?”

“Yeah, dude, that’s so gay.”

Sighing, he continued to the table before slumping down in his chair, resting his head against the surface. “I’m not okay,” he proclaimed.

“Talk to that fuckwit?” Manon asked halfheartedly.

“Yeah,” Dorian allowed,sitting upright again, then popped a chip in his mouth. “Fuck, that’s bad.”


	2. The Red Umbrella

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for the support so far you guys it really warms my heart  
> idek how long this series will go on for but i have a lot of fluff, angst, and drama planned for the characters so stay tuned for that  
> the words for this particular chapter just flew out of me and i'm so excited to write malide's dynamic in this au and i hope you'll enjoy what i write  
> enjoy~

They sat in Manon’s dorm room.

It wasn't as lavish as Dorian's apartment down the road and Manon felt an inkling of jealousy at that. Her grandmother was almost just as rich as Dorian's dad. Why couldn't she have gotten a flat too? But no, Manon had been stuffed into these near-claustrophobic shared rooms and told to start socialising.

The joke was on her though, Manon's roommate was hardly ever in their room anyway.

Propped up against the wall, she and Dorian watched an episode of Westworld together on her open laptop before them. It sucked watching from a tiny screen but it did not diminish their intrigue for the series anyhow. While Dorian loved the complex plot and characters, Manon watched it for the gruesome and imaginative ways the characters killed each other.

“Pass the Doritos,” Manon commanded, reaching a hand over Dorian to make grabby hands at the bag of sweet chilli, eyes fixed to the action.

Dorian, too, found it hard to look away as his hand patted around the bed until his hand closed over the bag of crisps. He handed them to Manon.

When Manon popped one in her mouth, it took her two seconds to realise that these weren't the crisps she asked for.

“These are tangy cheese, I hate you-” Manon claimed but was instantly shushed by Dorian who watched the episode intently.

Manon glared at him for this but her attention was snatched when one of the characters started humiliating the other. Then she started robotically eating the crisps she didn't ask for, gripped by the action on screen.

She liked these types of evenings, the pair dubbing Saturday nights the boxset binge as they spent the five to one time period spamming episodes on her laptop. It was the perfect way to forget their troubles like deadlines, homework, and - most importantly - crushes. Dorian was still trying to get over the incident in the cantina the previous thursday but at least he only saw the rugby captain that specific day per week. Manon’s crush tormented her almost every day.

Out of the five subjects Manon took at the university, she shared two of them - Dance and Judo - with Elide Lochan. The former involved a lot of girls in leggings, which Manon wouldn’t have minded if she wasn’t so entranced in Elide’s dance moves. She’d tried many a time to compliment the girl, but Elide hadn’t grasped the concept that Manon was being very gay and replied with an “Aw, thank you. You’re really good, too.”

However, it wasn’t as if Manon could outwardly flirt with the girl, she already had a boyfriend who picked her up after their classes. Lorcan was his name and he belonged to a group of fuckboys called  _ The Cadre.  _ Manon scrunched up her nose at that. The name would eternally piss her off, it was such a pretentious white boy thing to do as well.

Nonetheless, Manon disliked Lorcan as soon as he came on the scene. His gaze always lingered too long on Elide’s breasts that - Manon noticed - were quite big, but didn’t warrant his constant attention. Not only this, but the brute tended to growl at any other boy that came into contact with her, even his own mates.

Repressing a snort of disgust, Manon tried to focus back on the episode but her mind kept wandering. First, to the painful ache that was beginning to form in her left arm. She and Dorian half-sat, half-lay on the bed as they watched and they relied both on the wall and each other to keep themselves propped up.

Her second thought was of Elide again and how she should shake this crush. But it was persistent, even sleeping with several women - and a couple of men - since the year started hadn’t even  _ begun _ to take her mind away from the girl. So Manon had engineered ways to talk to her be it to ask for help on work, or ask about clothes or make up, or just general talk about movies or music.

The moment Manon felt most proud of occurred about a month ago when Lorcan was late for the end of class. She’d seen Elide standing beneath the tiny porch of the dance hall as it rained, clad only in leggings and a sports bra, arms clasped around herself to fend off the cold. Manon had put up her umbrella over them both and offered a thin jacket as a feeble attempt at help.

“Thank you,” Elide had replied.

“No worries,” she’d responded. “Your boyfriend late?”

Elide sighed, rubbing her arms. “Yeah…”

Manon took a while before speaking again, watching as the other dance students either drove away or walked into the rainy distance. “That’s the third time this week.” 

This earned a confused glance from the other girl. “How’d you know?”

“You think I wouldn’t notice a lonely girl constantly checking her phone?” she relented. “I’ve been through it a fair few times.”

Sighing through her nose, Elide crossed her arms and looked back towards the driveway. “He’ll be here,” she promised.

“Eventually,” Manon added, and decided it was time to go, lest she punch Lorcan as soon as she saw him. She gave Elide her umbrella and told her to keep it as well as the jacket, then she pulled up her hood and trudged into the rain towards the main campus. When she looked back at the end of the driveway, through the rain she could only see a speck beneath a red umbrella.

Manon regretted not staying with her until her boyfriend showed up. She didn’t know how long Elide had been waiting out there in the rain, could’ve been fifteen minutes, or a half hour. As she had walked home, Manon liked to imagine that Elide had decided to make her own way home and break up with Lorcan when she next saw him.

Alas, at the next dance class, Lorcan showed up on time to take his girlfriend home. All had been forgiven between them which was both good and bad. Good that Elide was in a healthy relationship and that she was happy. Bad because Manon wasn’t the one to greet her with a hug and a kiss, she wasn’t the one to drive them away to their home together where they could live in the perfect harmony of domesticity.

Suddenly discontented, Manon broke from her reverie to the sensation of something wet splashing against her shoulder. She turned her head to find Dorian crying as he stuffed his face with the sweet chilli doritos. Surprised, Manon then looked to the laptop to find the credits rolling. Had she seriously daydreamed through the end of the episode?

“I can’t believe it’s over,” he whispered. “Dolores was so pure.”

Wait, what happened?

Was the series over?

But they’d started it last weekend?

Manon feebly reached out to pat Dorian’s head. He was such a baby it was unbelievable that he could easily be at the top of his english class. Maybe it was this compassion for the fictional that granted him that.

With a slam, the door to the room burst open and a silhouette was stood in the doorway, outlined by the hall light. Manon checked her phone; it was 23:27 - that could only mean one thing.

“You’re still here?” Manon’s roommate, Aelin, scoffed.

“I  _ live _ here,” Manon countered, watching her mortal enemy walk to her side of the room. “Sadly, you’re going to keep having to make the trek to your boyfriend’s to get laid.”

“Whatever, I’m getting condoms,” Aelin replied dismissively, raiding her drawers for what she needed.

“We didn’t need to know that,” Manon spoke for both her and her friend who had sobered since Westworld had ended, but still dug his hands into the dorito bag.

Aelin straightened, stuffing condoms into her pockets. “I’m leaving now, feel blessed, witch.” She tossed a glare at Manon on her way out but stopped to give a flirty wave to Dorian. In reply, he stuck his tongue out to reveal the half-chewed chunks of doritos.

As the door shut, the pair giggled and Manon recalled the first conversation she’d had with her roommate. It was brief but definitely set the tone for their relationship.

“What kind of a name is Aelin?”

“What kind of a name is Manon?”

“It’s french, you twat.”

“Go fuck yourself.”


	3. Cute Girls Wearing Cheerleader Clothes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for all the comments and kudos on the previous chapters, I really appreciate them!!!
> 
> please bear with me though as I have a thousand fics going on at the moment and won't be able to update them all the time, so thanks for you patience
> 
> anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter as it was fun to write and keep your eyes peeled for future chapters!!
> 
> enjoy~

She met him on the bleachers.

The spring months were gradually warming into summer as the sun beamed down on the grassy university playing field. A few clouds dotted the sky but did nothing to shade the earth from the sun’s unrelenting heat.

As Manon stomped up the stairs to where Dorian was sat at the highest point, she tried in vain to keep her breathing even and not betray how winded she’d gotten through walking up the stairs. How was it that she was a near perfect dance student yet couldn’t climb some stairs?

“How are you not dead?” Manon monotonously directed at Dorian as she came towards him. There weren’t many others sat on the bleachers today, and Manon was puzzled as to why - though she realised that any time the sun was out was a good excuse to go to the beach not too far from the campus.

Dorian, in reply, chucked a water bottle at her that he had procured from the ice box next to him. “I’ve got another five in the box,” as he spoke, his eyes didn’t waver from the book he was reading. 

Opening the bottle, Manon slumped down beside her friend and wondered, “Why so many?”

“It’s two degrees hotter than it was yesterday,” he stated, snapping his book shut and raising his own water bottle in a toast as he met her eyes over the rims of his sunglasses. “This is a cause for celebration.”

Manon snorted and kicked up her feet against the bench below them. “For a sunny day, you’re not exactly dressed the part,” she said, eyeing his outfit that mainly consisted of dark colours.

Pulling down his sunglasses again, Dorian eyed her outfit the same way. “Neither are you.”

She scoffed, turning her attention to the playing field down below. “Let’s just admit that we’re both emo losers with nonexistent social lives,” she sighed, leaning back against the bench backing.

Dorian mimicked her position and agreed, “Absolutely.”

Manon’s eyes fell to the beefy boys down below, practically specks from where they were sat (then again Manon refused to wear her prescribed glasses). It struck Manon that it was the university’s rugby team. Especially when one of the players stripped off his jersey and the coach began shouting at them.

“Westfall, put your goddamn shirt back on, this isn’t the beach!”

_ Ah, _ Manon thought,  _ Westfall _ \- first name unknown, also known as Dorian’s current crush. She didn’t really give a shit what Dorian liked to drool over, and she could certainly see how he found the guy attractive. But she definitely wasn’t hasty to hop on his dick.

To Manon’s left, at the bottom of the bleachers, were a parade of cheerleaders who frolicked around in their purple and white skirts. Manon snorted. She found that kind of frivolous show of jumps and tricks to be a waste of time and effort. But she had no doubt that a cheerleader could perhaps match her in hand-to-hand combat considering all the exercises they went through weekly.

She watched them as they chanted and stomped to an imaginary beat, pumping their arms in the air with big smiles on their faces. Then they all converged together into one clump of purpley plum and hoisted one of their own in the air. She was of average height, brown hair, brown eyes, slightly brown skin. All this suggested a plain Jane archetype but Manon could not find Elide to be anymore beautiful - even with the sweat plastering her hair to her forehead and neck.

Finally, the cheerleaders threw Elide into the air and caught her with interlocked arms. After that they gently lowered her to the ground and celebrated this round of cheer practice with highfives and sweaty embraces.

Manon hadn’t realised she’d been staring so long until Elide met her eyes and smiled, bounding up the stairs to where Manon and Dorian were sat.

“Hey!” she greeted, breathless, and Manon tensed as her crush came to sit beside her. “Gorgeous weather, isn’t it?” she asked.

Almost unconsciously, Manon found herself offering her bottle of water to Elide as she replied, “Yes,” and then suddenly admitted, “but I much prefer autumn.”

Elide hummed her agreement and took the bottle, looking out over the playing field. “It’s strange to see you in the sun,” she then blurted.

Turning to stare wide-eyed at Elide, Manon quickly recovered and pointed her gaze in the same direction as Elide’s. “How so?” she asked.

Elide simply shrugged and said, “I don’t really know but you have that look about you,” she looked over at Manon, searing her with her garnet gaze, “as if you better suit the dark than the light.” Then she shrugged again and took a sip of the water, staring at the game below. “But it’s not as if you don’t still look beautiful in the daylight.”

Manon blinked.

Then blinked again.

She was very much puzzled about whether that compliment was gay or not. But it wouldn’t be, would it? She had a boyfriend whom she lived with and she seemed so happy, she hardly even knew Manon.

Manon sighed slightly and offered an awkward smile to the girl in reply. Then she turned to Dorian who had somehow acquired a parasol and was still reading his book-

Well, his head was angled as if reading the book, but beneath his sunglasses his gaze was fixed solely on the sweating shirtless boys down below.

Manon sneered.

“So, um…”

At the sound of Elide’s voice, Manon’s attention snapped back to the girl at her side.

“There’s a party happening next friday,” she said, fidgeting with the bottle in her hands. “And I would like it if you could come?” she said, phrasing it like a question. They met each other’s gazes and Manon sought for an inkling of humour in her deep brown eyes but there was none. She was being genuine.

“But why me?” Manon found herself asking, then gestured to herself and Dorian, “we’re not exactly popular.”

“Yes, it’s very odd, isn’t it?” Dorian cut in with a snap of his book. “Two filthy rich kids and neither of them have a friend other than each other.” He put the book down and reached over Manon as she scowled and offered his hand to Elide. “Dorian Havilliard, charmed to meet you,” he introduced with a smile.

Elide took it and shook. “Elide Lochan, it’s a pleasure and it would be great if you came to the party too,” she said with a grin.

“Brilliant, we are very much looking forward to it!” Dorian said as he went into full big-brother-mode (even though Manon was the older of the pair).

Elide’s gaze snapped to the people below as they called out her name. She turned back to Manon and met her eyes, a conversation just for them. “They’re calling me back to practice but I’ll definitely see you at the party, yeah?” Manon could only nod. “Great, I’ll text you the details later and I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

She got up and skipped down the steps, waggling her fingers in a cute wave as she left. Sighing, Manon allowed a small smile to touch her lips as she watched Elide go. But then that serenity was broken when Manon remembered that Dorian was sat grinning right next to her.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a crush on someone?” Dorian asked, as fidgety and excited as a teenage girl.

Manon scrunched up her nose, avoiding his gaze by watching the cheerleaders practice again. “I won’t compare my bias towards Elide to your childish infatuation with some fuckboy rugby player whose name you don’t even know.”

Dorian didn’t say anything, and kept the smug grin on his face.

So Manon kept on going. “Elide is a pure soul that is too good for me and whoever else she passes,” she gushed, then turned to Dorian with a gaze that promised things worse than death, “so if you so much as  _ touch  _ her I will skin you alive and shove that frilly parasol up your ass.” With that, she stood and collected her things, moving to descend the bleachers.

Dorian stood as well, still wearing that smug grin, and chanted, “Oh, how the cruel and heartless Manon falls prey to the trials of the female sex.” He followed her with all his things and swung the parasol theatrically. “It’s so cute how you have a crush.” Falling into step beside her, Dorian hooked his free arm around her shoulders. “You’re adorable.”

Deciding that she didn’t want to have this conversation anymore, Manon grew annoyed with Dorian and dealt with him the only way she could think of in that moment, and tripped him down the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> I update fics every weekend and you can follow my tumblr @ryzaphelle!
> 
> Thanks,  
> Rae~


	4. Othello is not a Bargaining Chip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo homies it's really been a while since i last updated, but i'm back so hey~
> 
> it's exam season rn so i might be a bit MIA on tumblr and on here but i liked writing this chapter as i was able to explore chaorian’s dynamic a bit more and see how they fit into place in this fic
> 
> so i hope you enjoy~

While Dorian considered himself to be quite tall, he still struggled to reach his desired book from the second tallest shelf. He’d been going at it for about five minutes now and for the third time, he scanned the surrounding bookcases for a ladder or at least a stool. It was one of the faults of the university’s library; all this knowledge yet none of the staff were smart enough to include an aid for reaching the tallest shelves.

His fingers just brushed the spine of the book he wanted but it was still not enough. The fifth revised collector’s edition of  _ Othello _ would just have to wait another day, Dorian sighed to himself.

Yet he was just about to give up when another, paler, more calloused hand replaced his own and plucked the book from the shelf. Suddenly annoyed, Dorian opened his mouth to claim the book as his own when he turned and the words were lost on his lips.

“Othello, huh?” Captain “69” Westfall (Dorian didn’t really have another name for him yet (apart from  _ Source of My Sexual Frustration  _ and  _ *Insert Inappropriate Thoughts Here* _ )) said, admiring the cover of the special edition in his hands. “I’ve always wanted to read this.”

As if snapping from a spell, Dorian’s brows lowered as he half-snapped, “Not so fast.” He snatched the copy from Westfall’s hands, a playful smile touching his lips as he continued, “This copy is mine.”

Sapphire eyes admired the playbook. It was a thick bind-up, full of not only the  _ Othello _ script itself but artwork and live-action shots of the performance as well as in-depth character analyses. Dorian was practically drooling as Westfall interrupted his thoughts.

“Actually,” he said, stealing the book back, “it’s the library’s. So it is anyone’s to take.” He looked smug as he said this, and only succeeded in deepening Dorian’s scowl. Pretty or not, this thick-headed rugby captain was getting on his nerves.

Even if Westfall was only a couple of inches taller, Dorian still felt dwarfed by his height, and he didn’t want to fall into that primary school trap wherein the book would be lifted high over his head and he would be forced to debase himself by jumping for it. No, primary school had been a low point for Dorian, even as the heir to a multimillion-pound company.

“What do you even need Othello  _ for _ ?” Dorian interrogated, hating that he’d fallen so low as to  _ whine  _ for what he wanted.

Westfall weighed the book in his hand, studying the cover and frowning slightly at the wear of the pages. “It’s a bargaining chip.”

Opening his mouth to speak, Dorian then registered the words and closed it again, looking confusedly up at the rugby captain, hazel eyes meeting sapphire. “It’s a what?” Dorian asked, keeping his eyes locked with Westfall’s even if the action proved to be uncomfortable, too intimate.

“I see you in my lit class.” Dorian tried to hide his shock behind a simple raised eyebrow, racking his memory for Westfall’s presence in his classes. The captain continued, “It’s hard not to when you’re the only one who constantly sits in the front row, is the first to put their hand up, and can jabber on about a book for God knows how long-” Dorian silenced him with a scowl. “Bottom line is, I’m failing lit.”

That gave Dorian pause.

“And I need help,” Westfall added, making a pointed look at Dorian.

“Me?” Dorian blanched. “Are you serious? Can’t you ask someone else, like - I don’t know - our professor?”

Westfall regarded him beseechingly. “You know, Hamel. Half the stuff that comes out of his mouth is complete gibberish,” Westfall whined.

Sighing, Dorian knew he couldn’t disagree on that. He leaned against the shelf, considering the proposal. “My brain,” he said, “for that book.” Westfall nodded, but it seemed like quite an unequal bargain - Dorian  _ did  _ want that book but… “How  _ much  _ help do you need?” he considered.

“Just until I stop getting shitty grades on my assignments,” Westfall specified.

But that could take ages.

And in this moment, Dorian completely forgot about his little crush. Then the weight of the proposed arrangement hit him fast and his mind drifted to that fictional land he loved to escape to.

He saw the two of them, sat atop his bed with various files and papers scattered between them. Dorian would be typing away at his laptop unbeknownst to the presence at his back before a kiss would be pressed to his neck. Then another. Then another. Trailing up to his jaw. “You’re distracting me,” he would say.

“But studying is  _ boring _ ,” Westfall would whine, taking the laptop from Dorian and setting it down elsewhere. “I know you’d much rather be doing something else - or some _ one _ .” Dorian would only grin and let himself be pushed onto his back, the captain hovering over him as their lips met.

Dorian almost sighed externally as he forced that fantasy away. Apart from the fact that Dorian didn’t even know the captain’s  _ name _ , he also wasn’t confident that Westfall wasn’t  _ straight _ . Sadly, Dorian was all too familiar with the horrified looks men gave him when he’d innocently flirted. This, accompanied with the biphobia the boy received from the gay men who  _ had  _ initially accepted his flirting…

He wasn’t sure if he could stomach that rejection again.

Yet Dorian let a small smile on his face and accepted Westfall’s proposal nonetheless. “Alright, I’m in,” Dorian said, holding out a hand for the book. Even if Dorian couldn’t pursue Westfall romantically, it didn’t mean they couldn’t be at least friends.

Westfall handed him the book and Dorian hugged it against his chest. “It’s a deal,” the captain proclaimed, then fumbled, “And what should I call you, model student?”

“I’m Dorian,” he replied, his smile turning mischievous. “I thought you’d know that from all the jibber-jabbering I do.”

“Only partially,” Westfall replied. “I thought everyone kept mixing you up with the multimillion-pound heir to Adarlan Industries.” Dorian raised an eyebrow, Westfall catching onto the challenge. “Wait- Are you-?” The other boy nodded his head. “Really? What are you doing at a dead end university like this?”

“Fulfilling my role as Family Disappointment,” Dorian replied, a grim smile on his lips.

Not really knowing what to say to that, Westfall meaning let out a breathy, “Huh?” before sticking out a hand. “Chaol Westfall.”

Chaol.

That was the name that eluded Dorian all this time, and that mischievous smirk returned to his lips. “Kale?” he pestered. “Like the vegetable?”

Chaol’s replying scowl was evidence enough that this joke had been made many a time.

About an hour later, the two weren’t sprawled over Dorian’s bed like he had hoped, but rather a regular table in a dedicated studying area of the library. There were various signs dotted on the walls dictating that no food or drink was to be consumed in this area, yet Dorian and Chaol had snuck in various teas and coffees as their time together wore on.

Dorian was in the middle of highlighting his page of text when Chaol spoke up from the other side of the desk. “How the hell do you learn this stuff so fast?” he asked incredulously.

“It helps if you have a passion for the subject,” Dorian answered, highlighting one last sentence before looking up at the captain.

His hazel eyes were bored as he regarded his tutor, his chin resting in his palm as his elbow kept him propped up. He’d abandoned the text in front of him and he’d resorted to colouring in the corners of the page with his highlighter, and here Dorian found the root of Chaol’s problem.

“I took English Lit because I liked reading books, not analyse the fuck out of ‘em,” Chaol admitted and cast his eyes to his other hand that had picked up his highlighter and began fiddling with it.

Dorian’s brows creased. “Look, no offense, but,” he started, “how the fuck did you survive A Level English if you don’t like to analyse books?”

Chaol shook his head. “I didn’t.”

There was a pause as Dorian tried to piece together Chaol’s meaning. “Did your family bribe your way in?” he asked cautiously. He tried to wrack his brain for information on the name Westfall - couldn’t remember if his father had dealings with them or not, but it still sounded familiar once he thought about it.

Sighing, Chaol denied, “No, my family’s business is falling under. Terribly actually.” He leaned back in his chair, still fidgeting with that highlighter, and cleared his throat. “But it helps that my girlfriend is buying up the company. She’s hiding me away here, letting me do whatever I want, that’s how I got into lit.” He shrugged, and kept his eyes away from Dorian as he processed the information given to him.

Chaol had a girlfriend.

That was just the icing on the cake, wasn’t it?

Dorian opened his mouth and mused, “It seems this university likes to collect the “difficult” children of corporate tyrants.”

Chaol met his eyes then and, even though there was a small smile on his lips, the grim look in his hazel eyes was one Dorian could relate to.

Then, the most unexpected thing happened.

Aelin appeared from between the stacks and swished her way towards their table, a predatory smile on her lips. “Mmm,” she hummed. “Two hot lads in the same vicinity, must be my lucky day.” With her black heels on, she towered over the both of them but placed her hands onto the table, leaning down closer to them.

Dorian smiled up at her, but it was the type of smile that said, “Fuck off, twat, no one wants you here.” Dorian didn’t specifically say those words, but the meaning was conveyed through, “And here I was under the impression you were allergic to the library.”

Aelin gave a sweet smile that equally threatened him with vulgar words but replied, “I can’t find Rowan,” she announced. “I guess you’ll do,” she added, pining Dorian with that turquoise gaze. Then she turned to Chaol with, “I would fuck you too but Kaltain and I have quite a good relationship at the moment.” Back to Dorian. “Manon, on the other hand, I want to piss off.”

It wasn’t as if Dorian hadn’t entertained the idea before, but it was not an idea he’d follow through with unless he truly loathed himself. Besides, there were many other girls Dorian would take before he ever got to that rut in his self-esteem. No, it wasn’t because Aelin slept around that Manon and Dorian hated her, it was the fact that she was a spoiled-rotten bitch who believed in reverse-racism.

"Go fuck yourself, Aelin," Dorian replied sweetly, dismissing her with a hard stare and a fake smile.,

Pissed that no one was taking her bait, Aelin scowled and reached into her coat pocket as she turned away, throwing a business card behind her. It landed on the floor by Dorian's feet and he picked it up once she disappeared between the stacks. It was a blank card with a series of numbers written in pink pen on it. Her phone number.

Chaol blew out a breath. "Wow, she's a piece of work," he voiced Dorian's thoughts, and was suddenly propelled back into revising again.

"Yes, she is," Dorian said absently, looked to Chaol, and pocketed the card.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for reading, i love seeing your comments and they really do make me happy so thank you!
> 
> i also run a book/anti blog on tumblr @rhysthefuckboy (be aware i change my url a lot) so feel free to check me out!
> 
> Thanks,  
> Rae~


	5. Sweaty Bodies and Cactus Emojis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! i'm off exams now so i should be updating a bit more regularly now with new fic updates every weekend!  
> i hope you enjoy this chapter, it's a bit short but i guess you can consider this one a prologue to the next chapter which should be a bit more substantial ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  
> i want to thank everyone who left comments on kudos on the last chapter, it kept me going through exams and pushed me into continuing this fic so thanks so much again!  
> anyways, enjoy~

If Manon could write her life as a story, she would construct the narrative as a slow-burn, ditsy high school romance in which her life would be a series of awkward moments between her and her love interest leading up to a dramatic love confession that would leave the reader’s heart thoroughly wrenched.

But if Manon actually sat down to write this story then she’d end up writing a poorly drafted lesbian erotica in which she self-inserted as a millionaire CEO with a fascination with BDSM.

Each version looked good in her head though, and that was all that mattered.

She smiled to herself as she returned her attention to what was going on in front of her. Today was a practical session so she and her dance class were all in the dance studio, some students dotted about along the perimeter of the room while a group worked in the centre of the room. Elide was leading them, having been the most competent at the tap dance routine they were all trying to rehearse for a performance coming up, and they all tracked her movements in the mirror that they faced. Manon herself currently leaned against this mirror, having the best view as the group of dancers practiced their routine.

The windows at the far end of the studio were wide open, letting in the sun’s light on the warm summer day. Even so, a breeze drifted through the open panes and caused goosebumps to rise on Manon’s skin through the thin fabric that served as the group’s performance costume; nylon tights, white tap shoes, a black leotard that flipped into white fabric above the waist, and a tight-fitting suit jacket that many of the dancers had discarded thanks to the heat. 

Elide wore the costume very well and it was even harder for Manon to take her eyes off her like this. It distracted from the fact that she was getting irritated by the soundtrack that was being constantly replayed every time a dancer fucked up the routine. Unlike Manon, however, Elide had infinite patience with her group, giving pointers on how to improve and merely praising when someone slipped up. Manon, on the other hand, would’ve thrown at least one student out the window by now.

“Okay, guys, I think that’s enough for now,” Elide said suddenly, panting slightly with a sheen of sweat decorating her forehead. “Let’s take a break then try it with the ensemble next.” The group eagerly disbanded, chucking off jackets and grabbing bottles of water. The heat wasn’t making rehearsal any better, even Manon was exhausted and she was just sat on the floor!

She hoped that it wouldn’t be this sweltering when the performance day actually came along. It was two weeks away and was a part of the arts department’s annual “Solstice Selebration” (Manon hated the name), and would feature acts from a handful of classes, Manon’s being one of them. Granted, their act wasn’t until late into the night, and the air conditioning in the theatre was generous enough as not to make you visibly sweaty. Yet the lighting rig above the stage could make even a lizard die of heat exhaustion, and to perform a dance routine on top of that?

A water bottle appeared in Manon’s line of sight. Her mind snapped back to reality as she looked up to see Elide hovering above her. She looked just about ready to pass out, so Manon accepted the bottle and Elide took that as an invitation to sit down beside her. They were so close, Manon could see the beads of sweat dripping down Elide’s skin.

“You looked good out there,” Manon complimented.  _ In more ways than one _ , she didn’t say.

“Thanks,” Elide replied breathlessly, oblivious to the lesbian undertones of Manon’s observation. “But I thought you were really great too,” she added. At Manon’s raised eyebrow, she continued, “I’d say you’re one of the best in the class for this routine. Like, it’s so easy to be hypnotised by your dance style, as if you dance like it’s a battle. Every movement is calculated and elegant. I think, normally, that would almost hinder you, but you make it work so well.” Manon’s head snapped to the girl beside her and fought the blush rising to her skin. When she had been told about her dancing style before, it was always about smoothing her edges and softening her movements.

But her warrior’s dance had never been complimented.

“I think your aggressive nature is what brought Baba to pick me to lead the class over you, though,” Elide joked with a smile, and they both looked to their teacher who sat at the desk tucked into the corner. Baba herself was equally, if not more, aggressive than Manon and she still maintained this prowess even as she wore what could only be interpreted as granny glasses with a beaded chain attached to them and clicked away at a game of mahjong on the computer. Baba was pretty old, yet she could dance no less fluidly than a teenage girl in a gymnastics tournament. Manon was also convinced that she had a bet going on with the other department staff on whose class would suck the most at the Selebration. To sit back and let Elide take over practice would mean that Baba didn’t think hers was the worst class this year.

Manon took solace in this notion.

Elide spoke up again and Manon returned her attention to the girl beside her. “Me and my mates are going out to Vice Versa tonight just for a couple of drinks.” Elide met Manon’s eyes. “I was wondering if you’d like to come too?” she asked.

Manon went to nightclubs fairly often, and Vice Versa was one of her usual haunts. It was one of the few clubs in the area that had a wristband system, Manon would often wear a pink one to indicate that she was looking for women to hook up with. Of course there was the odd fuckboy that tried to “turn her straight” but one word to the bouncers, whom she was good friends with, and the douches would be chucked out.

This was like a dream come true. “Of course,” Manon said too hesitantly.

Elide didn’t really notice anyway. “Great!” she beamed, getting up and dusting herself off. “I’ll see you out the front around ten, yeah?”

She looked so pretty when she smiled. It was the kind of smile that rivalled the warm glow of the sun, the kind of smile that was infectious, the kind of smile that made Manon lose track of reality - if only momentarily. Manon smiled back and replied with a soft, “Yeah…” before blinking and hastily asking. “Could I have your number?” Then she fumbled as she added, “Just in case I’m running late or something.”

“Hm? Oh yeah, of course,” Elide registered, a new light to her eyes. “Just gimme your phone and I’ll plug it in for you.”

Manon rummaged through her bag beside her until she pulled out her phone. It was a newly-bought IPhone 6S rose gold edition that she’d only purchased just to piss off Dorian. (“It’s battery and storage is shit and it shatters into a million pieces as soon as your drop it more than three feet,” he ranted and proceeded to throw his Samsung across the room when he lost another round of a bullshit android version of Flappy Bird.)

Offering Elide the phone with a new blank contact open, Manon watched the other girl as she entered her phone number and other relevant details before taking the phone back and Elide walked back to the centre of the room to start the routine again.

Manon smiled down at her phone and the newly-added contact.

 

****Elide** **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for reading and kudos and comments are always appreciated! 
> 
> edit: whelp turns out ao3 doesn't recognise emojis so feel free to check out the emoji version on my tumblr @ryzaphelle


	6. Blame it on Mr Waffles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! I just want to say thank you all so much for you’re support on the last chapter, it really helps me keep going and I’m also really sorry for not updating sooner! Everything’s been a bit hectic with college and work and other things that I haven’t really been able to sit down and write any of my ongoing works, so I’m sorry if this chapter doesn’t seem too great as it’s kinda rushed and I’ve only proof read it once.
> 
> Anyways, here’s the conclusion to last chapter with the continuation of Manon and Elide’s story, I do hope you like it and if you do please leave kudos and comments as it really does help me out.
> 
> (and to those you you wondering, Elide's contact name has a green heart and cactus emoji and Manon's is a pink heart and knife emoji (ao3 doesn't really register them rip))
> 
> Enjoy~

**(21:53) Me:** why the cactus emoji?

 

**(21: 54) Elide** : i like cacti

 

**(21:54) Elide** : is that a crime?

 

**(21:54) Me:** …

 

**(21:56) Me:** what am i saved as on your phone?

 

**(21:56) Elide** :  **Manon**

 

**(21:56) Elide** : i wanted to put a red heart bc i know that’s ur fave colour 

 

**(21:56) Elide** : but they only have the pink ones :'(

 

Manon allowed a smile onto her rouged lips as she read the new text on her phone. She’d stupidly got to Vice Versa too early and spent the last fifteen minutes texting Elide who had informed Manon that they were almost there.

But “almost” was relative.

Manon shivered slightly in the evening breeze and shifted from one foot to the other to keep her body moving. The bouncer manning the door of the club eyed her suspiciously since she’d been loitering out the front of the building for a while now - but she wasn’t going to mention that to Elide, wasn’t going to mention that Manon had been a bit too eager to go out tonight.

Flashing the bouncer a cruel smile, Manon then dug through her silver clutch to find her mirror. She scrutinised her reflection in the surface; scarlet lips, silver hair curled (ugh, she needed to bleach her roots again), and narrow eyes lined with black wings so sharp she could stab a bitch. She had even put in her golden contacts which she usually only reserved for family gatherings to piss off her grandmother. Yes, if Manon was going out clubbing with Elide then she wanted to turn heads. Her strapless dress was a deep red that offset her pale skin and her height was exaggerated by a pair of black velvet heels tied with ribbons that snaked around her ankles.

Manon felt so good.

And she so desperately wanted to get laid - preferably with Elide, but she knew that would never happen.

Her phone buzzed and her screen displayed another text from Elide.

 

**(21:59) Elide** **:** we see you!

 

Manon’s head snapped up as she began searching her surroundings for the only reason she came out tonight. And there she was; clad in a tight black dress that rose dangerously up her thighs, it left her shoulders bare but covered the rest of her arms, a dark green choker wrapped around her golden throat and jade heels with large bows on the toes adorned her feet.

“You look so good,” she wanted to say, but the words refused to leave her mouth.

Beside Elide strode one of her friends, Lysandra, who was also friends with Aelin - unfortunately. Her dark hair fell in waves over one shoulder and her green eyes shone in the streetlight. Her dark complexion contrasted with the sheer white top that covered from neck to wrist but left her midriff bare and a long black chiffon skirt floated around her as she walked.

Elide was grinning as she met Manon in front of the club doors.

“Hey, you look so pretty,” Elide complimented as a way of greeting.

“Yeah,” said Manon, suddenly tongue-tied. “You are, too.” Elide offered a bright smile at that and Manon looked to Lysandra - she was sure Elide invited more girls here. “Is there no one else coming?”

Elide shrugged. “Yeah, some of the girls chickened out since it’s exams tomorrow, but a couple other friends will come out later,” she explained, then gestured to the door and the bouncer standing sentry beside it. “Shall we go in?”

The three girls made their way through the door - after Manon gave the bouncer a friendly wink - and joined the queue for coats, bags, and the club’s exclusive neon bands. Manon stared at them for a long time, thinking about which one to pick. There was pink for an interest in women, blue for an interest in men, orange for an interest in any and all (which was what Lysandra wrapped around her wrist) and red for no interest (which Manon saw Elide take). She knew that the bands could be coupled like a pink and blue for bisexual, or blue, pink, or orange coupled with red for no sexual interest - but Manon also knew that she’d only be wearing one band tonight.  _ Pink or red, red or pink,  _ she thought.

In being with Elide, here, now, it would probably be best to choose red - not wanting to be bothered while platonically wooing her crush. However, taking pink would be making her preference clear for future reference - if Elide ever broke up with her asshole of a boyfriend (but that was a horrible way to think).

Sighing as discreetly as possible, Manon took the band that glowed scarlet and fastened it around her wrist. Another red bangled hand took Manon’s and Elide pulled her and Lysandra farther into the pulsing club. It was hot, and strobe lighting painted the room with neon colours while house music beat in time with Manon’s heart.

They reached the bar and Elide turned to ask something, but Manon couldn’t hear it properly with all the music and screams of euphoria filling her ears. The other girl moved closer then, speaking directly into Manon’s ear, “Have you had pre-drinks?” she asked, and Manon nodded slightly, her mind dazed as a shiver ran up and down her spine. 

The next thing she registered was a glass being thrust into her hands. As she examined its contents, she noted the little umbrella that adorned the top of the glass and the rainbow-layered liquid that was inside the glass.  _ Very fitting _ , Manon thought, the club was essentially a gay bar after all. Taking the straw into her mouth, she took a sip of the drink that tasted of fruit with the spike of alcohol.

Cocktails weren’t usually Manon’s type of drink, preferring whiskey and rum over alcopops - something that would get her drunk  _ very _ quickly. And she so desperately wanted to be drunk right now, especially with Elide so close to her, wearing the clothes that she was, looking so pretty that it physically hurt.

Manon was doomed.

At some point, Lysandra had disappeared and the two were left alone to talk with the bartender. He seemed like an interesting guy, but Manon had decided to tune out every word that wasn’t Elide’s for the purpose of protecting her eardrums from the sheer amount of noise in this place.

“So you’re still coming to the party this Friday,” Elide asked her.

“Of course,” Manon replied. As if she would forget. The party was in two days and she was still filling in her pros and cons list for the night.

Pro: Elide. That’s it.

Con: Lorcan and his band of twats.

The cons vastly outweighed the pros in length, but she couldn’t bear the thought of telling Elide that she couldn’t make it. And no doubt if Manon stayed at her dorm, Dorian would pester her to no end with Snapchats of him and Elide with the dog filter.

Manon fought to keep the scowl off her face as she spoke with Elide. “There wouldn’t be a better way to spend my evening,” she added.

Elide flashed a dazzling smile. “That’s great to hear,” she said. “I’m so excited.” She took another sip of her drink and asked, “Is your friend still coming too?”

Guessing that she was referring to Dorian, Manon’s only friend, she replied, “Yeah, he is. Wouldn’t miss the opportunity to party with a bunch of hot girls.”

“ _ Oh, _ ” Elide winced and shook her head. “He’s one of  _ those  _ boys, huh?”

Manon nodded. “Mm hm,” she hummed. “He used to be a lot worse, though. I wouldn’t worry.” Tired with talking about Dorian, Manon decided to change the conversation with, “So how’s life with you?”

Elide shrugged and turned her gaze to her glass as she took another sip. “It’s okay,” she replied. “Nothing too dramatic. Going to class. Staying over at Lorcan’s place. Same old, same old.” She shrugged again. “How about you?”

“Same,” Manon replied, then added, “My grandmother texted me this morning to yet again tell me that I’m a disappointment to the family. That was the most interesting thing that happened to me this week, so far.” It was a blatant lie. Manon was far more concerned about the here and now - being with Elide, if only on the grounds of friendship. And there was the party on Friday to think about, of course.

Elide nodded in understanding, wincing at her comment about her grandmother. “I know the feeling,” she added. “My uncle’s the same way. He says he won’t name me as the successor to the family fortune until I’m “worthy”,” she air-quoted. “Not that I want it anyway, but he keeps trying to force it on me.” She shook her head then looked down to her phone on the bar as it buzzed and lit up. Manon couldn’t see the text as Elide read it but saw the girl purse her lips ever so slightly, shove the phone back into her clutch bag, and down the last of her drink. “Do you wanna go dance?” the smaller girl asked, looking up at Manon expectantly.

Swallowing the bad feeling Manon felt at watching Elide with her phone, she was glad for the distraction and gestured for Elide to lead the way.

The music pulsed all around her and the lights flew around in an intoxicating spectrum. The bodies were thicker here and Manon almost lost her shorter companion in the crowd, but it was easy to find her again - the only plus to being painfully sober in a club full of drunk gay people.

Finally, Elide stopped and turned to face Manon, intoxication relaxing her face as the alcohol took ahold of her senses. She started to sway as Manon watched in fascination, beginning to match her own movements. 

This was one of the things Manon loved about going to the club, feeling a high from the music and losing herself in its drowning echoe. The bodies pressed around her but she didn’t care anymore, not with her eyes closed and her soul humming with electricity.

When she opened her eyes again, everything seemed slower and she could distantly see Lysandra heading for the girls’ bathroom with another short girl with red hair like shimmering ruby, their lips locked in a heated kiss. A smirk pulled at Manon’s mouth, bitter that Lysandra was getting laid and she wasn’t, but also happy that the other girl was having fun.

A hand brushed by Manon’s arm, which wasn’t uncommon on a packed dance floor but she knew whom that hand belonged to. Elide had a blissful smile on her face and her eyes were clouded as she writhed to the music. Hair disheveled and clothes rumpled, she was clearly showing the signs of a good time - even if she was only drunk off one drink. Lightweight.

Her fingers brushed Manon’s hand as they danced, and they interlocked; clammy and hot. Even drunk, Elide danced to the beat well until she and Manon matched movements, unconsciously deciding to dance their routine from class. They tried as best they could in the small dancing space they had, and eventually the routine dissolved into swaying and hair flicking.

All Manon could think as the music took her away was that this was not the way friends touched each other.

~

“Hey, do you think Lorcan’s fit, or what?”

Manon was startled more so by the question than Elide’s murmuring that she had been doing for the past fifteen minutes as they walked down the road. The night was quiet and there was no life apart from the occasional rat that emerged from a bush or alley. Elide had assured Manon that they needn’t order a taxi as Elide’s mother lived down the road from the club - where she and Lysandra had got ready before making their way to meet Manon.

Elide herself hadn’t been giving very good directions as she spurted and hiccupped every five seconds. If only Lysandra was here to help, but she had assured Manon and Elide that she would be staying the night at her hook up’s place and that they would be fine without her.

Manon scowled. They were not fine.

Before answering Elide’s question, Manon dragged out a pause, hoping that Elide would forget the question. But she didn’t and asked it again. “No, I’m a lesbian,” Manon answered this time, praying that Elide wouldn’t make a huge issue out of it - even if she just spent the night at a gay bar. One could never be too sure of straight people.

“Shit, what!?” Elide gasped, very much out of it, and half-giggled/half-hiccupped “D’you think  _ I'm  _ fit”

Now  _ that  _ wasn’t a question Manon had been ready for. Her mind flipped, trying to come up with an answer. She avoided Elide’s gaze as she settled with a cool and vague answer. “And what if I did?”

Elide was silent, but Manon refused to take her eyes off the path ahead, almost scared to see Elide’s reaction. What if she was grossed out? What if she was blushing? What if she straight up pinned Manon to the nearest wall and made out with her?

But Elide did none of those things, and ran over to the nearest wheelie bin to throw up.

Manon wasn’t quite sure if that was a reaction to her answer or if it was because Elide had too much to drink. She decided to settle on the latter, not ready to face the thoughts surrounding the former of the two options.

When Elide rose from beneath the lid of the bin, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and said, “Whoops.” She stepped away from the bin and whined some more. “And that was the recycling bin too! You can’t recycle my vomit!” Elide just looked about ready to cry so Manon took her hand and tugged her in the direction that they were going before.

They had crossed into the suburban part of town now and were surrounded by small patches of gardens and mass-built houses. Elide led her through underpasses and between houses until they came to a set of concrete-slab stairs, the other girl assuring her that they weren’t far from Elide’s mum’s house.

“It’s at the end there,” Elide pointed. “Straight forward from the stairs and it’s the house to the right.” A lot of the alcohol had worn off now and she was coherent enough to give the right directions.

Manon looked at the house Elide was pointing to, at every house in this area, and cringed. This place was clearly council-built, only they would build ten thousand houses that all looked exactly the same both internally and externally. Cats ran freely throughout the place and Manon had seen a few puddles of an unidentified liquid in the underpasses back the way they came - she just couldn’t see how the family of a vast fortune could live in a dump like this.

A cry sounded from behind them and a cat came charging at them from around the corner. It was a ginger one, with stripes and a white belly.

“Mr Waffles!” Elide cried, and bent to pick the cat up as a bark echoed from the same direction it came. A grey-coated staffordshire terrier zoomed around the corner as well and Manon felt powerless as it charged for the cat in Elide’s arms. She saw the cat dig its claws into the girl’s arms as she took a step back, then another, then another away from the violent dog. Her heel slipped on the topmost stair and Manon reached out for Elide to stop her fall, but her fingers only brushed the fabric of her dress and Elide tumbled. Her foot slammed onto the pavement, the heel of her shoe broke, and her ankle bent too far sideways.

Manon rushed down the stairs after her, cursing her own heeled shoes. In an effort to save the stupid cat, Elide had fallen on her back at the bottom of the stairs and she groaned when Manon reached her. The cat on the other hand simply meowed and scampered off again as the dog came running down the stairs too.

“Ow,” Elide moaned as she tried to prop herself up on her hands.

“Where does it hurt?” Manon asked, her eyes frantically searching all over Elide’s body for bruises and bumps.

“It doesn’t hurt too much,” Elide reassured her friend. “But that may be just the alcohol, I’m not sure.” Manon nodded and held out a hand to help Elide up, trying to steady her aching limbs. However, when Elide tried to stand up straight, her ankle gave out and she collapsed in Manon’s arms. “My ankle,” she breathed, her voice pained.

“You can’t walk,” Manon said, sounding dumb, then hooked an arm behind Elide’s knees. “Come on, I’ll carry you,” she stated. It wasn’t an offer, she wouldn’t let Elide suffer, even if it was just for a minute walk to her house.

“Manon, no, I’m fine,” Elide babbled but almost screeched as Manon lifted her into her arms. “How strong are you?” Elide asked, dumbfounded, and looked down at Manon’s own feet clad in heels.

“You’ll find that I’m full of surprises,” Manon replied, just to be cryptic. In truth, her feet were killing, but she tried to concentrate less on that and more on the fact that she was carrying her crush in her arms. She could feel her pulse and every intake of breath, smell the perfume that still clung to her skin amongst the sweat and alcohol.

She concentrated on this as she walked up to the house with the royal blue door that Elide had indicated was her mother’s house. Knocking hard on the door several times, Manon and Elide waited a few minutes before the door opened and a middle-aged woman clad in a floral dressing gown looked worriedly from Manon and her odd gold-coloured eyes, to her daughter in the strange she-demon’s arms. “Elide, what happened to you?” she asked, visibly worried.

“I hurt my ankle on the way home,” her daughter replied. “I’m okay now, though,” she added with a wry smile.

They both looked to Manon and she took that as her cue to put Elide down, much to her chagrin. She felt colder now as she watched Elide’s mother help her daughter into the house.

As her mother disappeared down the hallway, Elide turned back to Manon and said, “Thank you.”

“For what?” Manon asked in return.

“For being a good friend,” Elide elaborated and Manon felt her heart give a painful beat in response.

Manon replied with a grim smile. “Take care of yourself now,” she said in goodbye, turning to walk away.

“What about you? Don’t you want to stay the night? You can if you want,” Elide called out.

Letting herself consider it for only a second, Manon forced herself to decline it. “I’ll be fine, I’ll call one of my grandmother’s cars,” she lied.

“Are you sure?” Elide asked.

Manon nodded and turned away, watching her shadow, cast from the light of Elide’s doorway, as she walked back the way she came. That light never faded until she walked up the steps and turned the corner.


	7. Four Score and Seven EastEnders Episodes Ago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHELP it's been about five hundred years since i've updated this fic and I basically just word vomited this chapter so its almost 5000 words thank you very much neither is it proof read so spelling and grammar maybe a bit whack sorr i'll fix that at a later date Now onto my writing schedule that pretty much flew out the window during the summer holidays, I wanna blame it on the lack of structure since college was over but most of it was probably the fact that i fell into a kpop hole and was basically like "why write fanfics when i can watch cute korean boys do stupid shit on youtube???" WHOOPS anyways i hope now that i'm back at college i'll have more reason to procrastinate my homework by writing fics so I HOPE that i'll be back to updating at least ONE (1) fic every weekend.  
> ANYWAYS  
> I'M SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT BUT HERE IS CHAPTER SEVEN I HOPE YOU LIKE IT OKAY BYE

 

Dorian was well aware that his father didn’t like him. He wasn’t quite sure why but Darius Havilliard’s disapproving tone combined with his forever-frowning mouth didn’t quite send the message of a father’s love towards his son. Even so, the corporate tyrant was like this to anyone and everyone but Dorian had a suspicion that his father saved the sourest glares for him. 

He was using a particularly disapproving look as he regarded Dorian from where he had just come in through his apartment door. The older Havilliard broke his son’s gaze to cut a glance at the living room around him, and Dorian let out a sigh as his posture relaxed slightly - standing stick-straight while he and his father had a staring contest was beginning to wear on him. He was still breathing heavily from frantically trying to tidy the place while his father rode the elevator up to flat number five. Every spec of dust he failed to clean was like an added weight to his stomach as his mind would replay that clip of a fake Abraham Lincoln shouting “Now you fucked up!” over and over again.

He knew he needn’t worry too much about the place. Dorian liked to believe he lived a minimalist lifestyle - kind of like a set from Ikea. In fact, a lot of his furniture was bought from there since he knew it would piss off his father. Darius Havilliard may have chosen the apartment for him, but it’s insides were all Dorian’s. The room they were currently in was split into two; one half being the living room where father and son stood now, and the other half being the kitchen-diner. Each section was separated by a long counter with a gap in the centre to allow passage between the two half-rooms. While the cabinets were white, the crockery contained inside were a rainbow of colours which were mirrored on the rugs decorating the wooden floor boards.

Dorian pretended he didn’t care about his father’s opinion but Darius’ next words: “You should hire a maid,” still stabbed him through the gut.

“I don’t need a maid, father, I can take care of myself,” Dorian replied, trying to keep the inner twelve year old out of his voice - he didn’t want to be caught  _ whining _ to his father.

“Nonsense,” Darius brushed off, stepping further into the room and running his finger over the surface of the coffee table. “Everyone needs a maid.” He frowned at the dust that came away at his touch and flicked it onto the floor. Dorian repressed his scowl. “But inspecting your lodging is not why I’m here,” Darius added, and Dorian let the scowl darken his face. It was never a “home” with Darius, it was always a “lodging” as if Dorian could never have a home away from the mansion he grew up in at the heart of the Havilliard estate. Dorian hated it there.

More surprisingly, however, was Darius’ true purpose in Dorian’s space. “What are you here for then?” he asked carefully, moving into the kitchen to prepare two cups of tea in two brightly-coloured mugs. He always offered his father a mug but he always declined - Dorian liked to imagine he was allergic to all things colourful. Either that or Dorian’s way for preparing tea.

His father did not take any seats - not the red stools at the breakfast bar nor the futon in the living room - and merely maintained his straight-backed, haughty-nosed stance in the centre of the living room. “You are aware of our partnership with the Kurogane family,” his father stated and Dorian almost replied with a sarcastic remark, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t known Manon and her family  _ all his life.  _ When he nodded, Darius continued, “We’re in the process of welcoming another company to our partnership,” - Dorian almost snorted. “Welcoming” usually meant “buying up.” - “And in the interest of of its current overseer, we’ll be hosting a gala,” his father finished.

Dorian raised a brow as he poured the boiled water into the two mugs. “A gala?” he parroted. “But we hardly ever throw parties for the companies we buy up.”

Darius’ mouth pulled into a smirk that dripped venom. “Let’s just say that this is a particularly promising buy, and it’s one that myself and Shina Kurogane have been wanting for a long time.”

Inwardly cringing, Dorian felt for the poor sod that would soon lose their company to his father and Manon’s grandmother. The two families were needless to say vicious in the corporate world and that anyone who crossed their path were as good as gone. Dorian was very much sickened that this was the empire he would eventually inherit.

“And when is this gala?” he asked, finally.

His father lifted his forearm and pulled back the sleeve of his suit jacket to look at his watch. He tapped and swiped at it a few times as he looked at his calendar and finally replied, “Monday next.” Dorian’s head snapped up from the tea and a look of confusion crossed his face. Why was it so early? As if reading his thoughts, his father elaborated, “You underestimate the importance of this contract, my son.” Then he finally looked down to what Dorian was doing at the counter and said, “Oh, for goodness sake, Dorian, you know I don’t like your tea.”

“Yes, I am aware,” he replied and went over to the fridge and picked up a jug of milk, to pour its contents into both mugs.

Darius merely rolled his eyes, and straightened over his suit jacket. “Well, that’s all for today, I shall take my leave,” he proclaimed and headed for the front door. 

“Goodbye, father,” Dorian deadpanned as he stirred his drinks.

“I shall get a maid organisation to contact you,” he called as he reached the door.

“I don’t need a maid, father,” he called back in that same monotonous tone.

The Darius Havilliard was gone and Dorian was all alone. He turned the radio on and was surprised to hear  _ Owl City _ ’s “Fireflies” playing. With a quick snort of laughter, let it keep playing and took his phone from his pocket. He scrolled through his notifications, sorting through the annoying Candy Crush requests and twitter updates - then he came across a text sent from Manon around 1am.

 

**(01:03) Bitch:** I AM THE BEST FUCKING LESBIAN IN THE HISTORY OF EVER

 

Although Dorian had no idea what the context of the message was, he still enthusiastically replied with:

 

**(11:21) Me:** YES YOU FUCKING ARE

 

He tabbed out from that thread and began to sort through his emails when a knock sounded at the door and it opened to reveal a woman. She was in her mid-forties, with curled chestnut hair, light brown skin, and sapphire blue eyes. She wore a pink tweed jacket-skirt combo and a matching hair crowning her head. Dorian couldn’t help but compare her to Umbridge in  _ The Order of the Phoenix.  _

“Ah, Dorian,” she smiled pleasantly, her words drowned in the accent of the Queen’s English. “How are you, my bo-”

“He’s not here, mum,” Dorian deadpanned.

The transformation was instant. Her shoulders relaxed, her face shifted and her proud east-london accent came back as she said, “Oh, thank fuck.” Georgina Havilliard kicked off her heels and chucked her bag on the sofa. Now that her haughty facade had gone, she allowed herself to stomp over to the counter where her son was holding out one of the mugs. She graciously took it from him and took a long drink. She moaned. “I know I only saw you last week, but do you have any idea how much I’ve been starving for a proper brew?”

“I’m guessing a lot,” Dorian replied.

“Your father’s a nightmare when it comes to tea, honestly,” she added, then came around the counter to give Dorian a kiss on the cheek and a one-armed hug. “It’s good to see you, Dorian, I’m going stir crazy in that house.”

Dorian had always liked his mother the most. She was the one who changed his nappies when he was a baby - not the nannies his father had tried to hire, she was the one who played hide and seek with him when his father was barricaded in his office, she was the one who listened and understood when he eventually came out to her. Georgina Havilliard was so full of love, and she spoiled her first-born with it. Her other son, she tried to forget, as Hollin grew to be a spoiled rotten child who was predicted to follow in the footsteps of his father.

Often, Dorian couldn’t believe that he was related to two of Earth’s most hellish monsters, so as a child he liked to imagine that he was borne of a secret affair between his mother and the pool boy; Derek. While Georgina never admitted to being unfaithful to Darius - Dorian wouldn’t blame her if she was - this fantasy still sat in the back of Dorian’s mind, trying to fill the void where a good parental figure should have been.

Dorian smiled and shook his head. He took a sip on his drink before saying, “Mum, it’s been two years. Surely, you would have gotten used to the fact that I don’t live with you two anymore.”

“And what a painful two years it’s been,” Georgina answered, and went off into the living room to throw herself onto the futon. “Mums never get used to the fact that their children have flown the nest.” She sank back into the cushions, closed her eyes, and took another swig of her tea. As Dorian walked over to join her, she popped an eye open and asked, “Have I ever told you I love your sofa?”

“Yep, many times,” Dorian replied as he joined his mother in sinking into the cushions.

“Well, I do,” Georgina half-whined, fiddling with her mug. She was silent for a while, a frown growing on her face. Finally, she said, “Your father’s really been testing me lately.”

Dorian frowned, and turned his head to look at her. “How?”

“Ugh,” she groaned. “Most of the time he ignores me and pretends I don’t exist. But recently - with the company him and Shina are taking over - he keeps telling me to do this, that, and the other,” she huffed then began to mock him, “ “Go have dinner with these people, Georgina,” “Go make friends with that person, Georgina,”” she whinged in an over-exaggerated mockery of Darius’ voice. “He even made me have tea and cakes with this girlie who looked  _ way  _ too young to be overseeing anything.”

“Really?” Dorian asked. “What was her name?”

Georgina hummed, trying to remember. Then she clicked her fingers as she said, “ Rompier. That was her last name I think.” She brought her fingers to her lips as she continued to think, staring off into nowhere.

_ Rompier,  _ Dorian thought. The name sounded familiar, but he wasn’t sure where from. 

“Anyway,” Georgina started, slapping Dorian’s thigh enough for it to tingle. “That’s enough about me. How’s my favourite son doing?”

“Uh, good,” Dorian summarised. “Not a lot’s been happening since you last visited,” he lied.

“No way, there’s gotta be something!” his mother exclaimed. Dorian really must have underestimated how uneventful her life must have been without him there in order to seek entertainment.

“Uh,” Dorian thought again, trying to fill the silence. Of course interesting things had been happening to him; he’d finally made contact with Chaol. But he wasn’t quite ready to tell his mother that.

“Come on,” she prompted with a smile as he took a sip of his tea, “No interesting girls you’ve banged lately?” 

Dorian almost choked on his drink. “Mum!” he blanched.

“No boys?” she asked, with a cheeky grin.

Dorian downed the last of his tea, dregs and all.

His mother gasped. “There  _ is _ a boy, isn’t there!?” she exclaimed, fidgeting excitedly. “Who is he? Tell me all about him?”

Leaning up to put his empty mug down onto the coffee table, Dorian then fell back down against the cushions and stared up that the ceiling. Georgina was looking down at him, propped up by her elbow, her gaze attentive.

He was involuntarily reminded of the day before wherein he and Chaol had once again sat in the library. Despite the glaring red signs threatening to take their internet privileges away, they still drank their tea in styrofoam cups and shared a large pack of Doritos as Chaol practiced essay after essay and Dorian proof-read and graded them. They had ended up talking more casually about their assigned books to analyse and then conversation turned to their favourite books in general.

For whom struck Dorian as a sort-of fuckboy, Chaol was well-read with classics like  _ The Illiad  _ and  _ Dante’s Divine Comedy.  _ Whereas Dorian prefered the works of later authors like Jane Austen and Dickens. They had their slight differences of opinions regarding Lizzie Bennet and whether or not  _ War and Peace  _ was actually a self-insert story. But in the end, after their heated discussions surrounding books, Chaol had given Dorian his number so he could schedule study sessions in the future.

Dorian smiled a grim smile. “He’s not that important,” he said, the lie rolling off his tongue easily. “He has a girlfriend, anyway.”

“Aw, poppet,” his mother cooed and frowned. “There’ll be others.”

“I know,” he almost breathed. “We study together, though, it’s not like I can avoid him.”

“You’re just gonna have to grin and bear it, aren’t ya?” she replied, putting down her mug next to his. “But speaking of grinning and bearing, your brother’s gonna be coming home for the summer.”

As soon as she said the words, Dorian blurted, “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

“That was exactly  _ my  _ reaction!” Georgina added. “Then I had to apologise all posh to Hollin’s progress tutor. You’d think for a boarding school for delinquents they’d set ‘em straight before they sent ‘em home. He’s been on report  _ fifteen times  _ since the beginning of the year, he’s the worst one of them all.”

Dorian groaned. “I don’t think he  _ can  _ be set straight,” he thought aloud, then quickly added, “I don’t think he’s gay either, we don’t want him.”

This got a little chuckle from his mother, but then she sighed. “I don’t think I can take any more drama in my life,” she said sadly.

“You married a multimillionaire, Mum, what did you  _ think  _ was gonna happen?” he joked, but it came out harsher than he intended, that mental clip of Abraham Lincoln starting up again.

She scowled, visibly offended by the jab. “I wanted the money, Dorian, can you blame me?” she fired back. Georgina was very shameless about the fact that she was a gold digger and a trophy wife, in fact, she often felt empowered by it. She knew what she wanted and she got it by her own means - now she was just waiting for Darius to croak so she could actually touch her earnings.

Sitting up again, Dorian reached for the remote on the coffee table and pointed it at the tv on the far wall. “What you doing?” his mother asked, her brow creased.

“Putting on some  _ EastEnders _ ,” Dorian answered. “We can laugh at other people’s drama for once.”

“Aww, thank you,” Georgina grinned and leaned up to kiss him on his temple. “Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

“That’s assuming that they only watch  _ EastEnders _ .”

“Dorian...Don’t tell me that  _ EastEnders  _ is the only TV show you watch.”

“No? And why not? It makes me feel better about myself.”

“As you wish…”

 

~

  
  


Georgina stayed until one in the afternoon. She would’ve stayed longer if she hadn’t forgotten that she had tea with Shina and the rest of Manon’s family later and needed to drive into the country to their estate.

Since she’d been gone, Dorian had made himself another cup of tea and browsed through the notifications on his phone. His heart had lurched when he received a message from someone addressed only as  **Daddy?** . Despite the fact that Dorian - almost daily - called people out for using the word “daddy” out of the context of a fatherly figure, he still took guilty pleasure in using it to address particular contacts he deemed attractive. And Chaol - obviously - was one of them.

The question mark was only due to the confusing thoughts surrounding his feelings towards said daddy.

 

**(14:46) Daddy?:** Is it alright if we squeeze in some extra studying today? I know we said we wouldn’t meet up again until friday, but I got a party tomorrow and I don’t think I’ll be able to make it.

 

He’d replied almost immediately, then cursed himself for seeming too eager.

 

**(14:47) Me:** We can do! :D

 

**(14:47) Me:** Though it’ll take me awhile to get to campus as I’m at home right now ://

 

In way-too-much anticipation, Dorian had stared at his phone waiting for that reply. Two minutes passed, and he started to get anxious. What if Chaol decided he  _ didn’t  _ want to meet up? What if he got another study buddy instead? Maybe he thought the effort Dorian would have to put in would be too much and unnecessary and would decide not to bother him? (Yes, Dorian would have to travel a while on the bus to get to campus and yes, it would be very boring but he found he’d do it anyway just to see Chaol)

 

Finally, after three minutes,  **Daddy?** Replied.

 

**(14:50) Daddy?:** Well, if it’s going to trouble you to get to campus, then I could come to your place? I have a car so it won’t take me long, just text me your address and I’d be there in a flash.

 

He’d read the text over and over again, trying to digest the information.  _ Chaol? _ Wanted to come  _ here? _ To his  _ apartment?  _

The rest of the last ten minutes were a blur of confirming addresses and “see you in a bit”s, and Dorian found himself, yet another cup of tea in hand, staring out the window facing the apartment block’s driveway. He had no idea what Chaol’s car looked like, and his heart always skipped a beat when a car pulled up into the driveway, only for not-Chaols to spill from the vehicles. But fifteen minutes passed and still no show.

To take his mind off the ticking clock, he looked about his apartment. It was still quite tidy looking since his father’s visit that morning, and he and his mother had only rumbled the sofa slightly. He looked down to his clothes, wondering if he should change - he had thrown on a pair of jeans and a black sweater that he rolled up to his elbows. His feet remained bare as he hadn’t had a reason to put on socks and shoes and his hair was a bit rumpled from the ten minute nap he’d had on the sofa after his mum left.

Staring back out of the window, Dorian wished someone else were here to take a picture of him like this - it would make the perfect Instagram upload. Another minute passed and Dorian pulled his phone from his pocket and checked for any recent texts - but the thread only showed the “K” that had been sent by Chaol almost half an hour ago. In this time, Dorian could have hopped on the bus and gone to campus!

A dot appeared down the street, speeding down the path. Dorian couldn’t quite make the shape out and ran to his bedroom to grab his glasses from the nightstand. He shoved them on his face as he ran back to the window. Now he could clearly see the dot - now Chaol-shaped as he jogged into the driveway and up towards the porch. Pressing his face against the window, he strained to see him enter the building, then quickly remembered to tell reception that he was expecting a guest.

The buzzer by the front door rang and Dorian rushed over to it, pressing the button to answer it.

The receptionist’s bored voice came through the comm. “Mr Havilliard, there’s someone here to-”

“Yes, yes, Cynthia, let him in, thank you,” he garbled and let go of the call button, eyes darting about his apartment to make sure everything was in order.

He thought about putting on some socks. And maybe brushing his hair. But the elevator dinged before he could tidy himself and a knock came from the door a couple seconds later.

Unlocking the door, he opened it to reveal Chaol breathing heavily, sweat glistening on his forehead. He wore sweatpants and simple white tee, his belongings all stuffed into a satchel at his side. Once Dorian was done staring, he could find no other words than, “I thought you were driving here.”

Chaol panted out a laugh and leaned against the doorway. “I tried to,” he started, “but my car ran out of petrol and I’m too broke to get anymore.” He shrugged. “So I thought: why not run here?”

Eyebrows raised, Dorian gaped, then asked, “If you couldn’t get here we could’ve rescheduled. Why didn’t you text me?”

Chaol dug around in his satchel until he fished out his phone - one of those Nokias with the huge camera’s stuck to them - and flashed it at Dorian. “Dead,” he explained, then asked, “You have a charger?”

A smile played on Dorian’s lips now. “You seriously ran all the way here?” he mused.

Chaol nodded.

“Just to study?”

Chaol shrugged. “My grades are too shit for me to pussy out of a study meet.”

Dorian hummed a laugh then opened the door wide. Walking further into the room, Dorian pointed to the socket by the sofa. “You can charge your phone there,” he said, and walked into the kitchen area. “Do you want anything to drink?” he asked.

“Just water, thanks.”

Dorian opened his fridge and grabbed a bottle. “Catch,” he called as he threw it. Chaol caught it without fail, Dorian supposed he would being the rugby captain.

“Wow,” he heard Chaol say. “This is rich person water.”

“Of course,” Dorian replied as he grabbed his own bottle and shut the door. “You think my father would let me stock my fridge with  _ Evian _ ?”

After taking a swig, Chaol frowned, “Well, I don’t really know your dad, so no, I wouldn’t know.” He stood in the centre of the living room hands holding his satchel, perhaps made awkward by the unfamiliar surroundings. He’d plugged his phone in but made no other move to get comfortable, as if waiting for Dorian’s permission to sit down.

Dorian marveled at this as he bit his lip. From Chaol’s awkward comment he hastily replied. “Well...All you need to know about my dad is that he’s a dick and allergic to Ikea.” A smile tugged onto Chaol’s lips at this and Dorian gestured at the couch. “Feel free to sit. What is it you wanna work on today?”

Chaol did as he was told and sat, unpacking the books from his bag. “I was thinking-”

“Shouldn’t do that,” Dorian warned with a wink, “your brain can’t take it.”

The other boy’s face fell and he regarded Dorian’s smirk monotonously before flipping the bird, causing Dorian to chuckle. “ _ Anyway, _ ” Chaol started again, rummaging through his bag to pull out several of his practice essays. “I need to work on structuring my essays since in all my others I’ve just been been going off on bullshit theories.”

“Hmm,” Dorian agreed. “That is a problem, yes.” He came to sit beside him and took one of the essays to skim read. “But at least you’re supporting your theories with evidence, so you’ve got that bit right.” Handing back the essay, Dorian smiled and Chaol nodded. “You just need to acquaint yourself with paragraphs.”

 

“Thomas Hardy needs a kick to the dick.”

Dorian burst out laughing. Chaol was smiling but in that sense that he didn’t realise what was so funny as Dorian kept on laughing, falling backwards onto the lime green rug they - and Chaol’s books and papers - were scattered on.

They’d ditched the couch earlier, finding that the rug taking up most of the living room’s floor would be a better work space. In Chaol’s hand was a copy of  _ Tess of the D'Urbervilles _ , of which they’d both been assigned to read by next Tuesday. Dorian had already finished the book the day it was set, but Chaol was only a third of the way through.

“What?” Chaol asked, incredulous. “He’s a shitty author whose novel is riddled with cliches and one-dimensional characters.”

Finally, Dorian sobered, rolling onto his side and propping himself up against the rug, laughter still in his sapphire eyes. “You do realise,” he started, “that  _ Tess  _ was written to be a giant joke?” Chaol raised his eyebrow, his jaw slack, asking for elaboration. “Hardy wrote  _ Tess  _ to make fun of the other authors of his time, that’s why it’s so painful to read.”

There was silence as Chaol tried to wrap his head around Dorian’s words. Dorian thought he looked quite cute with his hazel eyes so wide, he could almost see the cogs turning in their brown depths.

“Wow,” Chaol said after a while. He blinked, then shook his head. “Honestly, if you weren’t helping me with Lit then I would  _ never  _ have picked up on that.”

Dorian merely shrugged, that smug smile still on his face. “Sparknotes is my best friend.”

“I thought that scary girl with the silver hair was,” Chaol joked, relaxing into a smile.

“Manon?” Dorian asked. “Nah, we’re closer than that.”

Raising an eyebrow, Chaol wondered, “Girlfriend-close?”

At this, Dorian burst out laughing again. When he sobered shortly after, he replied, “Manon is a scary lesbian who would gut me and play with my intestines before I even  _ thought  _ about making a move on her.”

Chaol’s eyes widened and he gave a curt nod - Dorian was glad he wasn’t one of those fuckboys who thought lesbians were a social construct meant to test the male ego.

“Besides,” Dorian continued, “I’ve known her for forever and...I’ve got my eye on someone else.”

The two of them were quiet for a while. Maybe it was a little bit awkward, but they maintained eye contact - Dorian was surprised Chaol lasted this long without uttering “no homo” at least once.

“She pretty?” Chaol asked.

Dorian’s smile warmed and he hoped Chaol wouldn’t see the hint of sadness underneath.

“Yeah,” was all Dorian omitted before sitting up again. He grasped to find other topics to talk about but the sudden bang of the door opening to slam on the adjacent wall snapped them both out of the awkward silence.

He wasn’t sure if Manon’s unannounced presence in his apartment was a curse or a blessing.

She looked ragged - probably the most disheveled he’d seen her, and he’d had  _ sex  _ with her. Her hair was tatty, her makeup smudged, with her phone clutched in one hand and a bottle of beer in another. Most shockingly, not a single item of red clothing was to be found on her - the most concerning pointer towards her mental state.

“Oh, sorry,” she said monotonously - not sorry at all. “Did I interrupt the introduction to your gay porno.” It wasn’t a question she was particularly fussed about hearing the answer to.

“Manon,” Dorian addressed carefully, looking towards the beer in her hand and wondering how drunk she was at this point. “How did you get up here?”

“Simple,” she replied, then snorted, her dark eyes promising murder from beneath her silver bangs. “I threatened to shove the receptionist’s earpiece up her ass if she didn’t let me in.”

Dorian nodded. “Of course,” he agreed with a sigh and made a mental note to send Cynthia a bouquet of consolation flowers. 

His eyes found Chaol’s from where he was sat against the couch. His brows were set into a scowl as he mouthed, “What the fuck is going on?”

“Are you okay?” Dorian asked cautiously, already mentally and physically preparing for Manon’s reply.

He expected her to spit at him, scream, swear, kick at something - but he did not expect the “No, I’m not,” weakly sighing from her bitten lips and he certainly didn’t expect her to fall onto the ground clutching her phone to her chest and the glass bottle of beer of which its contents was slowly seeping into Dorian’s rug.

He cringed at this.

Both he and Chaol were dumbfounded. Dorian because he’d never seen this side of Manon - and Chaol because this just contradicted Dorian’s earlier comment about the same sobbing woman being a cut-throat murder-lesbian.

Dorian wanted to ask what the matter was, to hug his friend, and take away the alcohol - but this Manon was unpredictable, he didn’t want to chance having his throat slit.

Unprompted, however, Manon opened her mouth to wobble, “Elide wasn’t in class today and she won’t pick up her phone.” She breathed unevenly. “I’ve called her like a hundred times and texted her relentlessly but she won’t talk.” She pressed her face into the floor, the alcohol making her tears fall harder and faster. “Is she okay? Have I done something wrong? Is that why she won’t reply?”

“Have her friends seen her?” Chaol asked, to Dorian’s surprise.

“No, no one’s spoken to her,” Manon sobbed once more and kept crying until she fell asleep on Dorian’s now beer-soaked rug.


End file.
